


All the Times You've Sat And Sang To Me

by JustJasper



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Flashback, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attack, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid and Morgan are experimenting with BDSM, and Morgan has a flashback and safewords out. Aftercare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Times You've Sat And Sang To Me

_“We skipped through the night, it's all that we need too, and maybe it's all that we'll ever need just to make us feel alive.” – Fightstar: The English Way_

  
  
It wasn’t often that Reid took a penetrative role in sex, but he always enjoyed it when he did. Morgan’s body was hot and impossibly tight, squeezing around his cock as he thrust his hips against the older man, forcing erotic little moans and grunts from him. Morgan was cuffed to the headboard at the wrists, with enough room to thrash like he’d requested. Reid was teetering on the edge of climax, dancing on the blade edge before the abyss when Morgan spoke.  
  
“Cactus!” he let out in a gasp. Reid was milliseconds from cumming but he knew what that meant, and literally threw himself off of his lover’s body, rolling away onto the bed beside him. He came right there, giving a frustrated grunt as he willed it to be over quickly.   
  
By the time the blinding flash of orgasm had passed, Morgan was completely still, face down on the bed. Reid moved to unlock Morgan’s restraints as quickly as he could, freeing the man’s wrists from the padded cuffs. Morgan pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. Spencer reached for him and Derek flinched away, stepping towards the bathroom. Reid hurried up, dashing around to put himself between Morgan and the doorframe. Morgan would shut himself in the bathroom if Reid let him, and things would not go well if that happened.  
  
“Move,” Morgan grunted. He couldn’t meet Reid’s eyes, as they darted around the room, unable to settle.  
  
“Derek,” Reid said gently, “it’s okay.”  
  
“Move,” he said louder. Reid reached out to touch the man’s arm, and his lover jerked away like he’d been burnt. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped, and Spencer clearly registered the desperate crackle of his voice.  
  
He persisted and Morgan stumbled back, drawing his hands into fists and quite suddenly slamming one and then the other against his own forehead. Reid balked and lunged forward, attempting to grab at the man, but he shrugged out of the contact.  
  
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chanted below his breath, punctuating each exclamation by smacking his own fists against his head. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”  
  
It was terrifying to witness Morgan like this; it was even rarer than tears from the man. They had been careful exploring Morgan’s desire to be penetrated and to be restrained, but they always knew it ran the risk of triggering a flashback so vivid Morgan had described it as being able to feel Buford’s hands on him, to be able to smell him and taste him.  
  
“Morgan,” Reid said more urgently, grabbing the man’s wrists and holding them firmly, before his darker lover could pound his fists against his forehead again.  
  
“Let go, Reid!” he snapped. One using his less intimate name was to get his attention, the other did it to distance him in these moments. He could easily best Reid in a straight fight, but in a scuffle like this Reid managed to get a strong hold on him, keeping his arms low even as they jerked upwards.  
  
“Derek,” the other man tried in more soothing tones, “stop, Derek.”  
  
“Get the fuck off me!” the fear in his voice felt like a fist to Reid’s gut, but he worked through.  
  
“He can’t hurt you anymore, Derek,” Spencer assured, pulling the man’s hands down again to mid-chest, manoeuvring his head and trying to catch his gaze.   
  
“It hurts. Fuck. It hurts!” Morgan whined pitifully, screwing his eyes shut. A vision, a memory, a flashback swam into his consciousness and he cried out, his knees buckling. Spencer went with him, sinking to the bedroom floor with him, still holding his wrists as the man strained to beat them against his brow again.  
  
“Derek, he can’t hurt you,” Reid repeated. “You’re safe. You’re safe with me. I’m not Buford, Morgan. I’m never going to hurt you. I’m never going to do anything you don’t want.”  
  
Morgan flopped forward against Reid’s chest, letting out a shuddering breath that preceded a sob. Reid wrapped his arms around his lover, cradling the strong man against him, stroking his back. He wouldn’t make Morgan describe his flashback like he had the first time; he knew what was happening in Morgan’s head, what was manifesting physically. He simply held him, lowering a hand to stroke soothingly over his sore rear as his lover shook and sobbed and whined through his flashback.  
  
It took a long time for Morgan’s breathing to return to a somewhat normal pattern, though it still hitched every so often, and for him to stop shaking enough for Reid to coax him into bed. He fidgeted, still unable to meet Reid’s eyes. The paler man put his hand gently on the dark chest of his lover, urging him to still on his back.  
  
“Derek,” He said softly. He waited until the man looked at him, and then he smiled softly. “I love you.”  
  
Some of the tension drained from Morgan’s face, and Reid had to stop himself sighing in relief. The thought that scared him most was that one day his words wouldn’t be enough.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, peering up at Reid, resting in his elbow beside him.  
  
“Don’t be.”  
  
“I know you wanted to try-”  
  
“Derek,” he interrupted, frowning, “I don’t want anything as much as I want you to be okay. I put you in those cuffs because you asked. Please, if you did it just to please me... don’t. I don’t want anything to be at the expense of you. It’s not fun if you don’t like it too. It’s not sexy or erotic or something I want if you don’t want it to. I’m not him, Derek.”  
  
“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to be normal... be able to try these things like normal couples without freaking out.”  
  
“There’s no such thing as a normal couple,” Reid said, running his hand across the man’s chest and dipping his head to kiss beside his mouth. “There’s standard, and common, but normal is term that cannot be applied universally. Having a post-traumatic anxiety disorder from a traumatic event does not make you abnormal, Derek.”  
  
“I guess,” he said, turning onto his side. Reid snuggled down with him, knowing his partner still didn’t like his PTSD being referred to explicitly as that. He wrapped his hand around the man’s waist, while the fingers of his other hand graced over his chin and jaw. “But I feel like if I can’t do it, if I can’t enjoy it when you fuck me, we’re not equal. In the relationship, I mean. If you’re always the one being fucked...”  
  
“Derek, being on the receiving end of penetrative sex the majority of the time doesn’t make me feel unequal,” he reassured softly. “I’ve never felt like that. Because you’re loving, and attentive. You always make it feel good for me. You always seek my active, enthusiastic consent. You never take more than I can give, you never make me feel degraded or as if I’ve submitted to you, as if it were a battle.”  
  
“Really?” Morgan asked, looking unsure.  
  
“Yeah, really.”  
  
“I love you,” Morgan murmured, and when Reid went to kiss by his mouth again he turned his head a little, so the kiss landed against his lips. He was sure that one day he would be able to enjoy being fucked, and only think of the man he loved. Until then, he knew that man would be there when that couldn’t be so.  
  


_“I will never give up on you, for all times you sat and sang to me, trying to make me better.” – Fightstar: The English Way_


End file.
